


temples drained of purple and full of death

by platinum_firebird



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, High Fantasy, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Other, Oviposition, Rape, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Xeno, tongue removal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 04:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platinum_firebird/pseuds/platinum_firebird
Summary: "They had laughed about it, back in Keluia.A dragon rider in both senses of the word,so the joke had gone, and it always provoked a good chuckle. It hadn’t seemed real back then; a legend from a far off country that few ever visited, where they let dragons fuck humans and thought it was the right way of things.Then, of course, the Llhadi had arrived, in their great warships under the banner of their dragon-god, and it had not seemed so funny."Taken as a slave, Kelan expects to be sold to a brothel. Instead, he becomes the property of Draxa, the dragon-god.





	temples drained of purple and full of death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BiffElderberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiffElderberry/gifts).

> A treat slipped in late because I got too caught up in my world-building, haha. Please do heed the warnings.

The slave pens were dim and stinking, only the barest amount of light and air filtering down from tiny windows up near the roof. The two Llhadi slavers held perfumed silk scarves to their noses as they walked among the pens, inspecting the merchandise, consigning them to one job or another. A few they rejected, shaking their heads, and the stockmen dragged them away, into the dark corridors that led out of the pens. They were followed by a tall figure in long, heavy black robes, his face obscured by a mask. He seemed to have no part in the proceedings; he merely followed, watching.

When they reached his pen, Kelan fully expected to be made a pleasure slave. He was young and beautiful, as were all the other young men and women in his pen. The stockmen had pre-sorted their charges earlier to save the Llhadi time and effort, and when Kelan saw the other occupants of his pen, it was easy to guess. He’d had several hours to resign himself to the idea, but still the thought of going to a brothel, of having to smile and simper while he invited strangers into his bed, filled him with revulsion.

The slavers ran their eyes over his group, but before they could speak, their silent, black-robed companion stepped forward. Kelan hadn’t realised it before, but the man’s mask was in the shape of an owl’s face, white as bone. Something went cold and sick in his gut. _An Llhadi priest._

And he was looking right at Kelan.

He stepped up to the cage, and the slavers stepped back, bowing to him with clear, unquestioning respect. He knelt down and took Kelan’s chin in his hand, tipping his head up, and Kelan met his stare. He saw grey eyes staring back at him, shadowed by the mask. The priest stared for a long moment; Kelan had no idea what it was he saw, but he nodded to himself and returned to his feet, then nodded to the slavers. They bowed again, and the elder one snapped his fingers, saying something in Llhadi so fast that Kelan didn’t catch the words. The stockmen opened the cage, and Kelan realised a second before it happened that he was about to be pulled out. He put up a half-hearted struggle, earning himself a cuff round the ear for his trouble, then fell limp in defeat as they dragged him away. There was no way, of course, that he could escape the stockmen from here - but given the fearsome reputation of the Llhadi priests, even death might be better than being dragged up to their Temple.

The other slaves would be taken to training camps outside the city to be forged into the legions of slave-warriors that formed the backbone of the Llhadi Empire’s army, or would be transported to the deep, deadly mines of the south to break their backs digging up the crystals that the Llhadi treasured. Others would be sent to training schools in the city and become household servants, while others would have the future Kelan had expected for himself - sold off to brothels for education in the arts of pleasure. Kelan was the only one who would go somewhere different; the only one who would go further up the great mountain the Llhadi capital was built around. The modest little pony-trap that the stockmen chained him into carried him and the silent priest right to the top of the mountain, where the Temple of Bone squatted like an over-sized toad, carved from the very mountain’s peak. It towered overhead, a hulking edifice of stone the exact colour of bleached, ancient bone, an ugly temple above a rotten city on a blasted wasteland of a mountain. Kelan could feel his limbs shaking as he looked up at it, and not from the cold. He’d heard all the stories about this place; both about the priests’ use for their slaves, and about the creature the Llhadi worshiped as a god. If he hadn’t been chained to the cart he would have tried to escape, but the cold metal bound him firmly in place.

The priest pulled the pony-trap to a stop in a wide, snowy courtyard, then unchained Kelan from the back and took his arm. Kelan had no choice but to follow; he wouldn’t survive a night on the mountainside in his flimsy rags, and he’d seen the guards stationed at the gates, and the high wall that separated the Temple grounds from the rest of the city. There was no way he could run.

Inside, the Temple was a little warmer, though that was because they were out of the wind rather than there being any source of warmth within the building. The cavernous halls were absolutely silent. Kelan knew the walls weren’t carved of actual bone, knew it was just an odd feature of the rock; but there was a difference between knowing and believing, and his fear-infected mind couldn’t help thinking he was being led down into the belly of some horrific beast as the priest took him further into the Temple.

He saw no other priests, and the one he followed did not speak. He was led to a bathing room, and his companion made a gesture that clearly indicated he wanted Kelan to remove his clothes. He did so, slow and reluctant, then allowed the priest to order him silently into the bathing pool. The dark liquid within was not water, but some kind of thin oil; the priest pushed his head down under it, holding him there until he struggled, panicking, flailing. Finally the priest released him, and he broke the surface coughing and gasping, desperately trying to get the oil out of his eyes, his heart thundering.

Behind his expressionless mask, the priest seemed unmoved. He pulled Kelan roughly toward him by the shoulder, and smeared something across his brow, something that gave off an incense smell so strong that it burnt in Kelan’s nose. Then he pointed again, ordering Kelan out of the bath, his skin still dripping and uncomfortably slick with oil. It was _freezing_; Kelan had to clamp his teeth together to try and stop them from chattering.

The priest wrapped him in a thick, pure-white robe and slipped his feet into brightly embroidered slippers, then led him out of the bathing room, down more long, white halls, their length dimly illuminated by the odd brazier here and there. Still they encountered no other priests.

Kelan wished the priest with him would talk. The empty, echoing silence of the Temple was unnerving, and Kelan felt the skin on the back of his neck itching, sure something was watching, tracking his every move. He took surreptitious glances behind him as they walked, but the halls stayed empty, as if he and this priest were the only living beings in this place.

But from the stories, Kelan knew that wasn’t true.

Finally they arrived at a set of huge stone double doors, their bone-like surfaces covered in carved images. Kelan knew what they depicted without looking at them - the story of the God-Dragon, Llamas, the first dragon to be born into the world, the first dragon the Llhadi had worshiped as a god. Llamas was long dead, but his successor lived here in the Temple - and Kelan had a feeling he was waiting behind these doors. For a moment he thought of trying to flee, of getting lost and hiding himself in all the endless passages of the Temple, at least until he could figure out some way to get free. He took one step back, the urge to run rising in him, burning, but the priest’s hand darted out and grabbed his wrist. His grip was immovable as the rock of the Temple, and his unfeeling gaze had a reproving air to it as he stared back over his shoulder. Kelan gave a feeble tug, but the priest only tightened his grip.

_I am lost,_ Kelan thought, even as the priest reached out and touched the very centre of the doors. With a low, echoing groan, they began to swing open.

They emerged onto a huge gallery cut straight from the rock of the mountain peak. The room was huge, bigger than both the lord’s hall and the cathedral at home put together; the walls and ceiling were rough and craggy, while the floor was glass-smooth. The room opened straight out onto the sky, nothing between them and the gaping drop.

And in the corner, unfurling his long, sinuous, golden-scaled body to greet them, was Draxa. The successor of Llamas; the Llhadi god.

The _dragon_.

Only the priest’s iron grip on his wrist kept Kelan from running. The priest dragged him forward, and he watched with quiet, sickening horror as the dragon’s wings unfurled, filling the space, brushing the ceiling. The beast was _huge_ \- how would it ever- how would _he _ever-

“You have brought another candidate, then, Ahan,” Draxa said, his voice a low, thunderous roll, as if he spoke with the voice of the mountain itself.

The priest nodded, then pushed Kelan forward. The dragon was barely twenty paces away now, hulking and monstrous and so, so _big_\- Fear gripped Kelan’s chest, his breath sawing in and out in the freezing air.

“You look cold, little tribute,” Draxa said, his great head snaking closer, turning to regard Kelan with one massive golden eye.

A few seconds of silence ticked past until Kelan realised Draxa was waiting for a response. “I- I come from Keluia,” he stuttered, unable to think of anything else.

“There have been many slaves from Keluia recently,” Draxa said, his tone musing. “The war is not going well for your people.”

_And your _cult _are the reason we__’re at war at all_, Kelan suddenly wanted to shout, but he stamped on the impulse. He might be a dead man walking, but there was no need to provoke the dragon.

Then again, maybe getting eaten would be better than what was about to happen.

He saw the priest - Ahan - making gestures behind him, his hands flashing quick as hummingbirds, and Draxa laughed. “Yes, Ahan, yes. Why stand around talking politics when there are much more pleasurable activities in store?” Draxa looked at him with what Kelan might have described as a leer, on a human face. “Remove your robe, tribute, and let us begin.”

_Here? _Kelan thought, looking at the icy floor, the drifts of snow against the walls. He was naked under the robe; surely he would freeze to death?

The choice was taken from him as Ahan stepped up and roughly ripped the robe away, leaving him in nothing but his slippers. Kelan hugged himself, feeling the wind keenly as it whipped past, not daring to raise his head and look at Draxa.

“Don’t hide, little tribute.” One massive clawed hand lifted, and Draxa extended one of his talons with surprisingly delicacy, using it to gently lift Kelan’s chin until they were eye to eye. “Let me see you,” the dragon hissed, staring deep into his eyes.

He must have been looking for whatever it was Ahan saw in him back down at the slave pens; whatever that mysterious quality was, he found it, hissing in satisfaction as he let Kelan’s chin go. “Prepare him, Ahan,” the dragon said, taking one massive step back.

Kelan whipped his head round, meeting Ahan’s cold grey gaze. Still the priest said nothing; his silence combined with the hand gestures made Kelan almost certain that he had somehow lost the power of speech. Ahan reached out and gripped Kelan’s shoulder, forcing him to the floor. Kelan gasped as his knees and hands met the icy stone, and he tried to get back up, but Ahan was stronger than he appeared, keeping Kelan down with one hand planted firmly between his shoulder blades.

“I like to watch,” Draxa’s voice hissed, “as my tributes are prepared for me.”

_Prepared_. The word sent shivers of revulsion down Kelan’s spine. He knew what came next.

They had laughed about it, back in Keluia. _A dragon rider in both senses of the word_, so the joke had gone, and it always provoked a good chuckle. It hadn’t seemed real back then; a legend from a far off country that few ever visited, where they let dragons fuck humans and thought it was the right way of things.

Then, of course, the Llhadi had arrived, in their great warships under the banner of their dragon-god, and it had not seemed so funny.

One of Ahan’s hands spread his ass apart, and then the cold, slick fingers of his other hand touched him, circling his hole. Kelan closed his eyes, feeling shame curl like burning hot embers inside his chest. He should have prepared himself for this - he had expected to be a pleasure slave, after all - but it was so odd, made him so vulnerable, to be watched while this was happening to him. Ahan’s fingers massaged him, spreading the oil across his skin and slipping only a little way into his hole before he added more oil, before he added one single finger. The exploration of him was slow, careful, almost teasing. Kelan could feel his shame growing hotter as his body responded, his cock beginning to stiffen. The embarrassment was excruciating - he could _feel _Draxa’s eyes on him like a burning brand - but Ahan’s fingers were skilled, as if he’d done this many times. He worked Kelan over, like he was luxuriating in the time it took, like it was a momentous occasion each time he added another finger. He had three inside by the time Kelan allowed himself to gasp, the first noise he’d let past his lips since Ahan pushed him to the ground. Ahan took it as a cue to speed up, fucking his fingers in and out of Kelan rougher, faster, gripping Kelan’s shoulder with his other hand and using it to shove him back onto the fingers fucking into him. He snuck in a fourth, the stretch burning a little even with Ahan’s careful preparation, and a weak, quavering whimper escaped Kelan’s throat. Ahan pushed him back, harder, pushed all four fingers in, until Kelan let a moan rip past his lips, his breath coming in ragged pants.

“You’ve done nicely, Ahan,” Draxa said, his tone amused. “I think he is ready.”

Fear curdled the hot arousal that had spread through him. Kelan froze, didn’t react as Ahan pulled his fingers away and stood, wiping his hands on a cloth. _The dragon is coming_, was the only thought he had, clanging like a dropped gong through his mind, freezing him in place like a rabbit caught before the wolf’s jaws.

The floor shook as Draxa walked forward, his talons clicking against the stone. For a panicked second Kelan thought to run; then a great weight came down on his back, forcing him toward the floor. The scales rubbed rough over the exposed skin on his back, and two sharp talons settled on either side of his head, and Kelan realised Draxa had simply put his clawed hand down over him, holding him as a cat might trap a tormented mouse. He gasped as it pressed harder, forcing him flat, hissing with sudden pain as the cold floor touched his skin and trapped his sensitive, overheated cock.

Draxa rumbled something that was almost a purr, then said quietly to Ahan, “Make the cut here.” Kelan, trapped on the ground, couldn’t see what the priest was doing; but he could feel as something began to nudge at his exposed ass, probing at him and his slick, open hole. He whined as it pressed further, and a thick, hot liquid began to coat his skin, gushing over him and dripping down his legs.

“Why don’t you look, little tribute?” Draxa rumbled. He sounded as if he were enjoying himself.

It would be better, perhaps, not to see, not to know what was coming; but Kelan couldn’t resist. He could turn his head enough to look over his shoulder, to see that Draxa had come up behind him - and to see the mighty length and girth of his thick, dripping cock, standing proud and ready between his legs. A moment of hysteria came over Kelan, and he wanted to laugh, to scream. That would never _fit_ \- it was made for fucking other dragons, not small, tight little humans. He forced himself to breathe, to take ahold of himself before the hysterical laughter clawed its way up his throat. Draxa’s cock tapered considerably toward the end, and the bulb-like tip might fit, he thought, and some of the length behind it, if he were ambitious. That was _something_.

But would Draxa be satisfied with that, or would he want more?

Kelan watched with sick fascination as the dragon’s cock moved, almost like a prehensile tentacle or another independent limb; he watched as the ridged, pinecone-shaped bulb at the end was lowered until it was level with his body. Draxa rubbed it over him, smearing his body with the slimy liquid that the cock was constantly excreting, covering Kelan’s skin in a thick layer of it. Kelan closed his eyes as he felt it push at him once more, unable to bear the sight of it. He was about to get fucked by a fucking _dragon_, like he was the victim in all those stupid stories they’d told in the tavern-

His eyes snapped open as a hand fisted in his hair. Ahan was above him, a goblet in his hand; he forced Kelan’s head back and put the rim to his lips, tipping it so the liquid spilled into Kelan’s mouth. It was hot and thick and tasted like metal, hot and _red_-

Kelan choked, trying to close his mouth, but Ahan jerked the hand in his hair roughly, forcing the goblet closer. He tipped it high, almost pouring it down Kelan’s throat as he coughed and gagged and tried not to choke.

It seemed an eternity until the goblet was empty and Ahan released him, letting his head fall back to the floor. Kelan coughed- he could barely _breathe-_

“If you don’t keep it down, Ahan will just make you drink again,” Draxa said, his tone gleeful. “It will make the egg take in you. Like calls to like, as they say.”

_The egg? What egg? _The stories had not mentioned that, or the blood-drinking - just the fucking. Kelan managed not to sick up the blood all over the floor, though it was a close thing. Ahan was still standing nearby, and when he’d recovered enough Kelan raised his head and glared up at him, wishing he had a weapon in hand, wishing he could strike the priest down where he stood. Ahan looked back at him, but any expression was hidden by the impassive owl mask.

“Try not to scream, little tribute,” was the only warning he got. Then the bulbed head of Draxa’s cock was pushing into him, more insistent this time, forcing itself in through Kelan’s slick but still tight entrance. Kelan let out a moan that pitched up into a wail, writhing under Draxa’s hand where it had him pinned to the floor, trying to get away. Even Ahan’s careful preparation and all the slick slime of Draxa’s cock couldn’t quite make up for the girth of it, the bulb that had looked manageable enough before proving a much more daunting prospect in reality. Draxa shoved it relentlessly into him, seeming to relish Kelan’s wails as his cock forced its way inside. It kept coming and coming, and when the bulb was finally in there was only more thick, hot length, shoving all the way up until Kelan thought he was going to split apart at the seams.

Finally, finally Draxa stopped. He held there a moment, letting Kelan feel all the burning hot length of him buried inside; then he began to drag it all slowly, slowly back out.

It hurt, both on the way in and on the way out. A burn like aching fire spread itself through Kelan’s muscles, and without meaning to he began to cry, hot tears sliding down his face. Draxa took his time, dragging his cock out and slowly plunging it back in again, seeming to revel in every noise of pain and fear Kelan made. The bulb inside him sometimes contracted, letting out another gush of hot, sticky liquid, enough that it began to leak out of him and run down his thighs, coating him and soaking the floor below. Draxa went faster, and the burn eased a little, though it was still rough and painful and Kelan couldn’t stop crying, his breath coming in panting, gasping sobs. Draxa kept fucking him, grunting and groaning his pleasure. Kelan wanted to slip away, try and go somewhere away from his body where he could detach himself from what was happening, but every stab of pain brought him back, acutely aware of every nerve in his body.

Suddenly there were hands on his hips, lifting them, and with the changed angle Draxa’s cock dragged over something inside him that made a jolt of pleasure run down his spine. He gasped, squirming, and Draxa kept the pace up, fucking into him and hitting that spot again and again as those strong hands held Kelan’s hips in position. Ahan- it must be Ahan- but why would he-

The pain was still there, but muted, numbed, and sparks of pleasure were now shooting through him. The next moan he let out was more like the moan of a lover, and even Draxa’s mocking chuckle didn’t mute the pleasure. The wave in him was rising higher- higher-

Then Draxa stilled, the bulb of his cock right over that sensitive spot in Kelan; and then his cock seemed to get bigger, pressing tight. Kelan had the wild thought that the bulb was opening, spreading in him like a flower - until all coherent thought was washed away in a rush of pleasure as the bulb expanded even more, stretching Kelan to his limit and pressing down hard on that singular sensitive spot inside him. Kelan was launched headfirst into unexpected orgasm, coming without even a hand on his twitching cock. For a moment he saw nothing, heard nothing; then he came back to himself as the pressure inside him eased.

Slowly, Draxa began to pull out. As the cock finally left him Kelan collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. It was over- it was done, and he’d _survived_.

He shifted, uncomfortable pressed flat to the floor. There was something hard and solid lodged in his gut, though he didn’t know what-

He froze, a tingle of horror going down his spine. Draxa had mentioned an _egg_.

Draxa’s hand lifted, and Kelan felt the dragon move away. “It is done,” he said, sounding self-satisfied. “Now we must wait and see if the egg will take.”

_Egg, egg_. The word reverberated in Kelan’s mind as he flopped over onto his back, then hesitantly began to explore, pressing his fingers to his stomach. There was a distinct, unmistakable bulge in his midriff, only enough to slightly distend his stomach, but it felt hard as stone when Kelan pressed on it. It hurt, too. He took his hands away, curling them into fists to quell their shaking. _An egg. I have a dragon egg _inside me.

He lay there, shuddering in the cold, the slick liquid pooling and congealing around him. It felt like he was floating, drifting. He felt like a broken toy, thrown aside and discarded, a puppet with severed strings. It felt like he was waiting for death.

“Yes, now. Let him rest.” Draxa’s voice, low and soft. There was a pause, then the dragon continued, his tone sharper, “No. Remember the purpose of this, Ahan.” After another pause he said, “You’ve done this before. Don’t lose your nerve.” Then his voice was softer, almost crooning as he said, “I know, I know. But remember, this is the way it always is. The way it must be.” Kelan had no idea what they were talking about, and it didn’t really seem to matter right now. He gazed up at the ceiling, dazed and cold and aching, and wondered whether he would always feel the sick, hot shame that ran like tar through his veins.

One of Draxa’s dexterous talons delicately skimmed across his forehead, and the dragon said, “There - a gift from me to you, little tribute. Now you will be able to understand Ahan.”

Ahan’s impassive mask appeared over him, and he made a series of signals with his hands. With a jolt, Kelan realised he_ could_ understand. _Do you want to bathe now? _Ahan had asked.

Kelan’s throat hurt too much to speak; he simply nodded. Before he could even think of struggling to his own feet, Ahan leant down and scooped him up into his arms, and carried him away across the gallery. They left through the same door they’d come through, and went back down what seemed like miles of bone-white hall until they reached another bathing chamber, this one slightly different to the one before. Ahan stepped down into the pool itself, seemingly oblivious to the water soaking his robes, and laid Kelan down carefully. He hissed as he sat, everywhere painful and sensitive, and Ahan moved him again, putting him on his knees. That was better than sitting on his aching, abused ass, and Kelan allowed himself to slump, relishing the hot water.

He’d done it. He’d fucked a dragon and survived. But with every part of him aching and the heavy, pressing weight of the egg inside him, it didn’t feel much like a victory.

Ahan had stepped out of the pool, and now the hems of his robe were dry. How had he done that, Kelan wondered. When he noticed Kelan’s attention, he made more hand signals. _Stay here as long as you want_, he said. _I am going to speak to Draxa. I will return to check on you_.

When Kelan tried, he found his throat had loosened enough to speak. “Can you not talk?” he asked, his voice croaky.

Ahan paused for a second, then simply shook his head. He disappeared through the door, leaving Kelan alone in the hot, steamy room.

Kelan hugged his arms around himself, and before he could stop it he began to sob - big, ugly, messy sobs, each one like a punch to his stomach.

/

He fell asleep in the bath, and woke up in an unfamiliar room, wrapped up in blankets to keep out the chill. He remembered laying his head against the cold side of the bathing pool, wondering if he could just slip underneath and drown quietly in the warm water. It would have been better, maybe - but it seemed someone was looking after him, not allowing him that easy escape.

The bed wasn’t luxurious, but it was comfortable, and the pile of blankets made him reluctant to leave. The hard mass of the dragon egg inside him was still there, an unexpected discomfort when he lay in certain positions, reminding him sharply of what had happened.

No one came for him that night, so he pressed his face into the pillows, willing himself back to sleep. Breakfast was waiting when he woke, but he only picked at it, then allowed himself to slip back into sleep, praying he would not dream.

The days began to pass that way - he stayed in bed, sleeping as long as he could, staring blankly at the ceiling when he could no longer force himself into unconsciousness. Food would appear, and despite wondering if he should just not eat, if he should allow himself to slowly starve, he didn’t have the willpower to resist entirely. Every day he felt heavier, more awkward; those few times he dragged his body out of bed to relieve himself were torture as the solid lump inside him began to grow, making his midriff swell out. The egg’s expansion brought with it wracking, shooting pains through his stomach, and sometimes he would be left flopping on his back like a boneless fish, unable to move, barely able to breathe through the pain. As the egg got bigger the pain was worse, the episodes more frequent, but though Kelan cried out, wailing and screaming with the pain, still no one came. Food appeared at regular intervals like clockwork, but Kelan never saw who left it.

As he lay panting in the aftermath of the latest bout of agony, he wondered if there wasn’t a way to just end it. There was nothing that could be used as a weapon in this room or the adjacent bathroom, nowhere that he could hang a knotted length of blanket to make a noose, but maybe if he could crack his head hard enough against the stone…

Then the pain took him again, and he writhed in unthinking agony.

The final bout of pain came as Kelan was staggering back from the bathroom. It drove him to his knees, a burning, stabbing pain that spread out from the hard egg inside him and wicked like fire down his nerves and limbs. He screamed, jerking and contorting on the floor, clawing pitifully at his distended stomach. It felt like the egg was moving- trying to force its way _out_-

Hands gripped his shoulders, forcing them to the floor, and a white mask swam into view above him. Ahan. Kelan tried to spit something at him, even through the pain, but the only thing that clawed up out of his throat was another scream.

He could just make out Ahan’s hand gestures through the tears streaming from his eyes. _This is the end_, he said. _If you do not live through this, know that your spirit will be honoured in the Halls of Llamas_.

_Fuck you and your fucking dragons_, Kelan wanted to spit, but he could no longer form words. Ahan’s hand descended toward him, laid across his forehead, and then Kelan’s world went dark.

/

He woke.

That in itself was a surprise. More surprising was what sat in front of him.

A pristine, glistening white dragon egg.

Kelan reached for it, letting his hand brush across the rough, crystalline surface. It was ice-cold to the touch, so cold it burnt. As he jerked his fingers away, Kelan realised the awful weight in his midriff was gone; the egg was gone.

The egg was here, in front of him. This was the egg he’d carried, incubated inside his body.

Suddenly he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to admire it or smash it into a thousand pieces.

As if sparked by his touch, a sudden crack ran down through the centre of the egg. For a moment nothing else happened; then the two halves began to split apart, forced outward from the inside. A tiny, scaled head emerged, and as the egg cracked wider it suddenly shattered like breaking glass, spreading in pieces across the floor. The tiny, delicate new dragon sat in the midst of the carnage, blinking up at Kelan with ice-blue eyes.

The small creature was barely bigger than a cat, and as it tried to stand it stumbled, its new legs shaky. Unbidden Kelan felt a surge of love rise up in him for this small, helpless creature, and after a second’s hesitation he opened his arms. The dragon bounced into them happily, snuggling down into the blankets Kelan was wrapped in. It looked up at him and let out a birdlike cheeping noise, and for the first time in months, Kelan laughed. It was innocent, he thought; just a baby. There was no way he could hate it.

As he stared down into the dragon’s sweet little face, he felt something stir in the back of his mind; something like thoughts, but not his own. They were simple, just _warmth _and _food _and _love_, not words or sentences. Could the dragon-? Was it _talking _to him? He tried reaching out to those thoughts and sending his own thoughts back, projecting a single word; _hello_. The little dragon in his arms let out something that could only be described as a purr.

They were in the mountain peak gallery, Kelan realised, the very room where this tiny dragon had been… conceived. There was no one else in the room - but even as they sat there, the thunderous _boom _of wingclaps rent the air, coming closer. He pressed the tiny dragon to him, trying to conceal it within the folds of his blankets, but the dragon would not cooperate; it stuck its little head up above Kelan’s shoulder, wriggling as it tried to get free. It let out a long, serpentine hiss as Draxa’s huge form soared into view, and the other dragon swooped up and landed on the edge of the stone floor.

The huge dragon settled himself onto the ledge, watching the two of them with narrowed eyes; then he said, “I see my successor has finally arrived. Release him from your arms, Honoured Kelan-sai, and let him face me down.”

_What happened to __‘little tribute’? _Kelan snapped inside his head, but he didn’t dare say it. He didn’t want to let the small white dragon go, but the tiny creature wriggled like a worm, slipping out of his arms entirely. It skittered along the floor and slid to a stop in front of Draxa, completely without fear. It raised its little head to look at him and pulled back its top lip, hissing.

“He has your strength,” Draxa said, bending his head down toward the little dragon, “He will be a worthy protector of the Llhadi.”

Kelan had no idea what he was talking about, but he desperately wanted to run up to them, to throw himself between Draxa and his own little white dragon. He remained in place, still frozen by indecision and fear, as Draxa lowered his head further and touched his snout to the white dragon’s.

A wind whipped up, screaming through the open gallery. Kelan raised his hands to protect his face, and through his fingers he could see the white dragon _growing_, expanding in size as he became as big as a dog, then a pony, then a carthorse, then _bigger_. His stubby little tail extended in a snaking arc, his neck curved and lengthened, his wings flaring and spreading upward. When he was half the size of Draxa the magic suddenly stopped, the wind dropping to nothing more than a quiet gust.

The white dragon shook his head and sniffed, shaking out his wings. Opposite him, Draxa slumped down. The big dragon seemed diminished; the luster had gone out of his fine golden scales, and his body looked shaky and weak. Still, he was imposing as he forced himself up again and opened his wings, rumbling out, “And now, successor, you must give me your name, that I might challenge you by it.”

The white dragon let out a snarl, and said in his own rough voice, “I am Nix; this is _my _territory now. _Begone_.”

Draxa only opened his wings wider, goading him; without warning Nix sprang forward, impacting against Draxa with a great _crash _of scales, throwing them both off the mountain. They screeched and roared as they fell, tearing away from each other to spread their wings, soaring up into the sky, chasing each other and trading great blasts of fire and ice. Kelan watched open-mouthed, hugging the blankets around himself, as the two of them left his view, their roars fading with distance.

Footsteps broke him out of his stupor. He turned to see Ahan coming toward him, with several other priests following in his wake, all in grey robes and white masks that were smooth and blank as river rocks. When Ahan stopped in front of him, Kelan looked up at him and asked, “I don’t understand- Ahan, what’s _happening_?”

It was impossible to tell behind the mask, but Kelan thought the look Ahan gave him was one of pity. _When one dragon and their rider fail to protect the Llhadi, a new pair must be chosen_, he said. _A new rider must pass the Trial, and bring forth a new dragon. Then the the new dragon will take power from the old, and strike him down to claim the title of Llamas__’ successor. _

Realisation hit Kelan like a rock striking him across the brow. “Then you- _you _were like _me_.”

_Yes. I was a slave_, Ahan said, _And I carried an egg, just like you. Draxa and I were bound together with a tie stronger than any magic in this world_.

“Then _why_?” Kelan demanded, “Why would you treat me like that? If you’d been through it- you _knew_-”

_The new rider must pass the Trial. They must be strong._

“You _tortured _me,” Kelan spat, his eyes full of angry tears.

_No. We forged you_. Ahan stared down at him, his head slightly cocked. _And now you will be a dragon rider, as I was. The people will call you Honoured Kelan-sai; you will protect them and their armies in battle. You will lead the priests in the Temple. You will have more power than even the Emperor; you will answer only to your dragon, our god._

“I don’t want to help your stinking Empire,” Kelan spat, “I’d rather burn you _all_.”

_You will have no choice._

Before he could reply, that place in the back of Kelan’s mind stirred, and he heard a low, rough voice. _It is done, my rider, my Kelan-sai. The pretender Draxa is dead_. It was Nix; it had to be. Kelan had no idea what to say back, though he felt a vicious surge of triumph at the words, and felt them echoed back down the bond from his dragon.

_Draxa is dead then_, Ahan signed.

“Yes.”

Ahan reached up, and for the first time, he slipped his mask off, revealing his face. Kelan started a little, staring at him. He had thought Ahan would be old, somehow, but the face in front of him was young, perhaps not even thirty - and stunningly, heartbreakingly beautiful. Tears slipped silently down his face as they stared at each other. Then Ahan lifted a hand and held out the mask. _The only person allowed to see your face now is your dragon_, he signed.

Kelan didn’t move to take the mask. “Says who?”

_I imagine he will enforce it_. Ahan pushed the mask into Kelan’s hands. As Kelan was looking down at it, the priests behind Ahan moved suddenly; before he realised it they were beside him. Two of them took his shoulders and pinned his arms, forcing him to his knees, while the third grasped his head. Though he struggled, he found he could not break free of them, his body still wasted and weak from the Trial of incubating the dragon egg.

Ahan stood over him, his beautiful face sombre. _For this I am sorry, Kelan-sai. This was the hardest, bitterest part, for me, at least. But it must be done_. Something silvery flashed in Ahan’s hand, and Kelan realised he carried a knife.

He was being made a dragon rider like Ahan, with the bond to a dragon, the mask - and the silence. Kelan yelled, struggling harder, but the priests held him in place as Ahan came on, raising the knife. _Help me! _Kelan screamed, desperate, down the bond. _Please, please help me, help me, help me-_

_Kelan!_ Nix shouted; Kelan heard a roar echo around the mountains. His dragon was coming back for him, racing toward the Temple on swift, powerful young wings, but it would not be enough, would not be in time-

The third priest pulled his head back, forced his mouth open. Ahan reached inside and clamped his fingers around Kelan’s tongue, drawing it out, raising the knife in his other hand. Kelan screamed, a broken, strangled sound; and the knife flashed.

Pain burst across him like a sunburst.

Kelan screamed again, and then he was choking, drowning in the geyser of blood that poured down his throat and out of his mouth and into his lungs, _choking_-

Someone laid their hands on his throat, on his cheeks, and then the pain ebbed, a wash of cold like cool water settling over his nerves. The flow of blood stopped, and he spat clumsily, clearing it from his mouth. The pain was still there, but numbed, dimmed. In its place he felt _loss_; a hole, an absence where he’d once been able to move his tongue. He moaned, collapsing to the icy floor, clutching his face.

Ahan was kneeling in front of him, his hands still outstretched. _My last spell_, he signed, a small smile quirking his mouth. _You will be able to do magic as well, Kelan-sai; search for the Water Master in the Old Town. He will teach you_.

Another roar rent the air, and Kelan could feel his dragon coming closer. _This is the end for us now, Kelan-sai, _Ahan signed. _I hope you will do better as a dragon rider than I_. As one, he and the priests stepped back and dropped down to their knees.

Nix’s roar echoed around the gallery, and Kelan closed his eyes.

Ahan didn’t scream, but the other priests did. The awful sounds rang in Kelan’s ears, even after the gallery was silent again.

Nix came closer, gathering him up into his arms, wrapping him in his wings. _Kelan_, he whispered, _My Kelan, my Kelan-sai._

Despite himself, Kelan felt tears slip down his face. No one had spoken to him with such softness, such pure love, since he’d left his mother’s home.

_I cannot fix this_, his dragon rumbled, drawing him closer, _I have not the power, not the magic- but no one will hurt you again, my Kelan-sai. Anyone who does will feel my _wrath_._

His wrath. Kelan pressed his eyes shut, not wanting to look - though he could smell the blood.

_You are mine, Kelan-sai. Mine to protect, and mine to treasure. I will keep you safe, always._

_Part of his hoard_, Kelan thought, _A possession in all but name. _There was a sick, hollow feeling in him, and it had nothing to do with his missing tongue._ A treasured possession, but still an object to be owned_. And that would be his life - forever.

Even as a dragon rider, he would be a slave.

Nix crooned to him, rumbling and purring deep in his chest, and Kelan let his head drop to his perfect white scales, feeling defeat wash through him. There was nothing more to be said; nothing more to be done.

As the possession of a man he might have made an escape - but as the possession of a dragon, he would be bound until death.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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